


Clockblocked

by Apathy



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Action, Comedy, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9092653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apathy/pseuds/Apathy
Summary: Sportacus finally gets Robbie back up to the airship for a little alone time. Too bad he never thought to ask the airship if it was cool with this.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltedpin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltedpin/gifts).



_‘I’m sorry, Sportacus. I cannot do that.’_

Sportacus blinks in confusion, the words taking a moment to sink into his brain.

He tries the command again, more forcefully this time. ‘Bed!’

The illuminated clock on the wall pulsates at him pointedly.

_‘The current time is 5:48pm. It will not be 8:08 for another two hours and twenty minutes. It is too early.’_

Sportacus rubs at his chin thoughtfully. Is it just him, or is the ship’s computer sounding a little more peevish than usual?

He puts on his most winning smile. This is just a misunderstanding!

‘We will not be using the bed for sleeping. So it is okay!’

The computer is firm. _‘Beds are for sleeping. It is not bedtime.’_

He risks a glance across the airship. Robbie is slouching against the breakfast bar, rolling his eyes.

After months of flirting -- from the relatively subtle, right through to (what he had thought was) the bleedingly obvious -- he had finally given in and directly invited Robbie up to his airship for some sex. Robbie’s somewhat infuriating response of ‘what took you so long?’ hadn’t been quite the answer he’d been looking for, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he’d practically dragged the man back to his home, throwing him over his shoulder and climbing the ladder with a ferocity that had startled even Sportacus himself.

They’d been all over each other the moment they’d got on board -- Robbie turned out to be a very handsy guy, he’d been pleased to discover -- but now the wind is very clearly being let out from his sails. If the ship doesn’t let down the bed -- and soon -- Robbie will lose interest entirely, and Sportacus will have had to utter the word ‘sex’ out loud for nothing.

He blushes just at the memory of it, but it also hardens his resolve. They have to do it now, otherwise he will never live it down, and Robbie will never give him another chance.

The villain is poking at one of his tomato slices in disgust. To be fair, it _has_ been sitting out on the bench for several days, at least -- which is about the most mood-killing thing he can think of.

He’s losing him -- fast.

Sportacus racks his brain. Clearly, his airship is unwilling to compromise. Improvisation is required -- and he knows that Robbie not-so-secretly loves it when he assumes a take-charge manner.

He places his hands on his hips, flexing his biceps more than is strictly necessary. It has the desired effect, though -- Robbie’s eyes follow the movement even as the rest of his body affects disinterest.

Sportacus thrusts a finger in the air dramatically. ‘There is only one thing we can do now.’ He points at the floor. ‘You. Down there. Now.’ He puts as much authority into the gesture as he can, even while he cringes internally. It’s a huge risk he’s taking.

Robbie stares at him, mouth agape, eyes like saucers. He places a hand over his chest, fingers splayed, while the other one grips onto the breakfast bar for dear life.

‘M-me?’

An infinitesimal pause.

‘Okay!’

Sportacus smiles in triumph as Robbie practically flings himself down onto the floor, but his expression quickly gives way to panic.

‘No! Not there!’

Sportacus throws himself on top of Robbie, slamming down the panel that will close the newly-opened hole in the floor. The sudden rush of frigid air gives way once more to the usual muted silence of the airship, and Sportacus relaxes.

Belatedly, he realises just what -- or _whom_ \-- he has relaxed onto, and he stiffens. Cursing himself internally, he slowly turns his head until his eyes meet those of the man beneath him.

Robbie merely raises one knowing eyebrow at him.

Sportacus knows that his… interest… is excruciatingly obvious. He clears his throat.

‘Maybe… over there would be best.’ He gestures slightly with his head towards the other side of the airship, although his eyes stay locked with Robbie’s. ‘Fewer buttons to press.’

‘Okay, then. Whatever you say.’

They remain together in their frozen tableau. Almost. Robbie shifts a leg just slightly, and Sportacus makes a strangled sound in response.

It happens again. And again.

Sportacus gasps. ‘Why are you doing this?’

Robbie fixes him with a look of pure disdain that goes straight to Sportacus’ groin.

‘Well, Sportaloser,’ he says very slowly, ‘if I’m going to go across _there_ , first you have to let me stand up _here_.’

‘Ah. That is a very good point.’ He peels himself off Robbie and stands awkwardly. Robbie, for his part, stands, dusts imaginary dirt from his impeccable sleeves, and saunters towards the far wall… only to immediately step on a panel that sends a cricket ball whizzing past him.

Sportacus’ heart leaps into his throat.

‘Stay right there! Don’t move a muscle!’ He flips across the cabin.

Robbie, for his part, has obeyed without question, freezing on the spot.

‘It’s too dangerous. Here, let me help.’ He sweeps Robbie up into his arms without a second thought, and leaps across the cabin, avoiding the pitfalls with an ease borne of long years of practice.

Robbie’s arms tighten around his neck, and Sportacus risks a look down into his face. The man is smirking, a villainous glint in his eye, and it dawns on Sportacus that he’s been played.

With an eyeroll, he dumps Robbie onto the floor. Robbie makes no effort to right himself, simply leering up at him.

‘Worth it.’

Sportacus sighs. ‘You can always just ask me if you want me to carry you, you know. You don’t have to go around risking both our lives just to get my attention.’

Robbie stares at him in genuine mystification. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’

Sportacus opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again. _He_ would find it plenty of fun, but, when Robbie puts it that way, he does have to admit that the element of danger adds a certain _je ne sais quoi_.

He won’t say it out loud to Robbie, though. He’ll probably take that as an invitation to push him into a volcano or something.

His ponderings are rudely interrupted by a falling sensation -- when his mind catches up with his body, he realises that Robbie has hooked a foot behind his knee and brought him tumbling to the floor. The fact that Robbie can do that to him shows just how badly his grasp on this situation is slipping.

Robbie is beneath him. Again.

‘Now, where were we up to? Ah, yes, I believe you were about to tell me how devastatingly handsome I am. Not that _I_ need to be told.’

Part of Sportacus is wondering how his life ever ended up at this particularly strange place. The other, hornier part is urging his hands down to places they probably shouldn’t go, his hips towards those of the villain trapped beneath him -- 

His crystal starts beeping insistently --

‘ _Ow!_ What the -- ’

Sportacus jumps up as Robbie writhes beneath him, and not in a pleasant way. The man is rubbing his head in pain, and Sportacus casts about in confusion, looking for the culprit.

There’s nothing, except -- 

‘An apple?’

It rolls to a slow halt on the floor, looking for all the world like an innocent piece of sports candy.

His crystal is still beeping wildly, and if _it’s_ trying to stop him from being with Robbie as well, he’ll tear the stupid thing off and crush it under his heel, before ordering Robbie to create a cannon strong enough to blast the remnants into the _sun_ \-- 

A fortuitously-timed turn of the head and supernatural reflexes are the only things that allow him to catch the carrot that’s missiling its way straight towards Robbie’s face.

Ah. So the airship is still at it. He makes a mental note to apologise to his crystal later.

‘What is going _on_?’

Robbie’s doing his best to avoid some scattershot grapes, with only minimal success. All kinds of sports candy is taking wing, now: a guava, some bananas, a couple of breadfruit, those old tomato slices.

A durian whizzes past, and he sees Robbie eyeing it speculatively. The corner of his mouth twitches, and Sportacus knows _exactly_ where his mind is going --

Sportacus stares at him in mild panic. ‘No. Absolutely not. I forbid you from ever touching any of my sports candy, from now until eternity. And also back until the dawn of time.’

He realises as soon as the words are out of his mouth that he’s basically given Robbie a free pass to never eat sports candy again, but he’ll deal with it later. He’d only specified _his_ sports candy, after all. 

And he certainly does _not_ want to think about what Robbie might have been planning to do with it.

‘Hypocrite,’ Robbie sneers amidst a barrage of mushrooms. ‘I try to find a use for your sports candy that we’ll both enjoy, and you ruin all my fun!’ His voice takes on an extra-sleazy quality. ‘And yours.’

He hauls Robbie up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, darting away from the pieces of bread that are flopping in their direction. He thanks his lucky stars that he barely eats any protein -- a wheel of cheese or a side of beef to the face would not be pleasant.

‘I’ll make it up to you later.’ He tightens his grip on Robbie’s buttocks. ‘Or right now.’

‘I’ll take a rain check. But don’t think for a moment that I’ve forgotten.’

 _How could I,_ he groans inwardly.

Safe at last from the sports candy blitz, he breathes a sigh of relief -- until the still-insistent screeching of his crystal fills him with dread.

He drops Robbie to the floor and shields him just in time to protect him from the tide of tennis racquets that washes over them. It’s quickly followed by a barrage of baseballs, and okay, _that_ really hurts.

‘Why are you doing this?’ he yells plaintively. The storm of sports equipment ceases momentarily. He dares to allow himself a moment to hope, but it’s the eye of the hurricane, passing all too quickly -- and while getting pelted by shuttlecocks isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, it _is_ one of the more annoying.

The ship couldn’t have voiced its displeasure with his romantic intentions any time in the past three years? It couldn’t have warned him off this particularly terrible path any of the countless nights -- okay, early evenings -- that he had poured out his heart to it, looking for advice? It’s choosing _now_ to let him know it’s jealous?

Resolve surges through him. Normally he would talk it out, help the airship understand why it should be happy for him and support him in his life decisions, even if he _is_ making a hideous mistake, because it’s his mistake to make, and that’s what friends are for, et cetera.

But he has been waiting too damn long for this. Time to be selfish, for once.

‘Robbie!’ he hisses. ‘We have to make a break for it.’

‘You don’t say.’ Robbie catches a golf ball and throws it back the way it came, and Sportacus feels a burst of pride. He really is getting better at sports… when he has the right motivation. ‘What do you suggest we do?’

‘We tell the airship that I’ve seen the error of my ways, and I’m dropping you off at your home. We sit in the pilot’s seat, detach the plane, leave the airship to calm down and consider the consequences of its actions… and then fly back to your lair and pick up where we left off.’

Robbie tilts his head in consideration. ‘Hmm. Not a bad plan. A little sneaky and underhanded, even. I must be rubbing off on you.’

Sportacus doesn’t dignify that last comment with a verbal response, although he knows that his deer-in-the-headlights look is answer enough for Robbie.

He clears his throat. ‘So. What do you think?’

Robbie shrugs. ‘Sure, why not.’

Sportacus stands up, arms held up in a gesture of surrender. ‘Airship! I’ve talked the situation over with my guest, and we’ve come to the unfortunate conclusion that he would like to return to his home now so that he doesn’t miss the season finale of _Gaybours_.’

He forces himself not to react to Robbie’s shocked gasp of ‘wait, that’s _tonight?!_ ’, focusing only on the blinking row of lights on the wall panel in front of him. The projectiles seem to be slowing down, now, but that's almost more intimidating -- at least it had been something of a known factor. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife… except that the airship is in possession of all the actual knives. He hopes it isn’t _that_ far gone.

‘We’re just going over here so that I can drop Robbie off.’ He walks slowly, carefully, towards the pilot’s seat, gesturing for Robbie to follow him. Robbie does so, with the peculiar mix of overconfident bravado and obvious terror that only he seems to be able to carry off. Sportacus hopes he doesn’t step on anything too dangerous, although at this point, it would probably be a welcome distraction from whatever nefarious deeds the ship is planning on carrying out next.

‘I’m just going to sit down here.’ He folds himself carefully into the pilot’s seat, barely daring to breathe. The ship is silent, still. ‘Robbie just has to climb in behind me so that I can drop him off, but then I’ll be right back, and we can spend the evening together like we always do. Okay?’

His heart thrums in his ears. His fingers clench around the steering wheel. Robbie slips in behind him, trying to find somewhere to fit his legs in the single-person craft --

The airship _plummets_ , screaming towards the ground at a velocity he never would have dreamed possible. Robbie clings onto him for dear life, jammed in sideways behind him.

Is it a ploy? Some bizarre game of chicken? Or is his airship honestly trying to plunge them all to their fiery deaths?

He doesn’t want to hang around to find out.

Swearing, he jabs furiously at the plane’s release button, resorting to thumping it with his fist when it fails to respond. The altimeter spins at a dizzying rate, and the lights of LazyTown are rushing up to meet them.

He curses himself for all the times he’s buzzed LazyTown with his airship. The residents probably won’t even realise they’re in danger -- he’s always flying way too low in order to impress the kids, stupidly risky airship manouevres being the one vice he usually allows himself. Even if they do realise the danger, they’ll probably sit around waiting for him to save them, instead of simply getting out of the damn way.

If they manage to survive this, he’s going to seriously re-evaluate his life choices.

Robbie, who is more out of the cockpit than in, is kicking at the controls. Maybe it’s his knack for machines, or maybe it’s just dumb luck, but the plane judders, screeches, and separates from the main body of the airship.

Sportacus pedals harder than he’s ever pedalled in his life, one arm gripping one of Robbie’s legs tightly to his chest while the other struggles with the steering wheel.

Robbie’s voice carries to him from somewhere behind him, almost inaudible in the wind.

‘Grappling hook, ten o’clock!’

‘Your ten, or mine?’

Robbie yelps as the hook whizzes past. ‘Not that it matters now, but yours.’

‘Good to know!’ He scans the ground, trying to decide on the best course of action. Try to outrun the airship -- an almost certainly futile task -- or call its bluff, and fly towards the town? Surely it’s not so far gone that it would deliberately endanger the townsfolk… right?

Sportacus wishes he could feel any confidence at all in this assessment. Normally, he would trust his airship with his life. Now….

‘Bowling ball, dead ahead!’

He veers wildly, and the action makes the decision for him -- they’re heading towards LazyTown, whether they like it or not. He can only hope that everyone will survive, so that he can apologise to them profusely later.

He’s not even wearing a seatbelt. He’s going to have a _lot_ of explaining to do.

He pumps his burning legs furiously as the buildings resolve into familiar shapes; the best he can do is try to aim for the parts of town that are, to the best of his knowledge, completely uninhabited for no discernable reason.

He forces himself to remember to keep breathing as they skim the rooftops. The airship’s propellers shriek above him, and even if he didn’t have to concentrate on steering, he knows that he wouldn’t be able to bear to look. He grips Robbie’s leg tighter.

As if reading his thoughts, Robbie’s hand on his shoulder tightens in what almost feels like a reassuring fashion.

‘It’s -- I don’t -- ’

Robbie’s voice is nearly drowned out by the noise of the airship, and that’s it, he’s officially murdered everyone in LazyTown just because he wanted to get laid for once in his life --

Robbie’s words slowly start to reassemble themselves in his brain, and it takes long seconds for him to decipher them.

_Going up. Turning around. Flying away._

_Safe._

When he has conscious control over his mind and body again, he realises that he really, really wants to kiss Robbie. He can’t reach his face, jammed in somewhere behind him as it is, so he settles for the next-best thing, which is kissing his knee.

‘We did it!’

He assumes that the words have come from his mouth -- it’s the kind of thing he likes to say -- but he realises after a moment that they came from Robbie’s.

He grins. ‘We sure did, Robbie.’

The airship seems to be making no effort to return; it’s disappearing off into the distance. Hopefully it will take some time to cool off and think about what it’s done, and they’ll talk things through later. Right now, though, he can barely bring himself to care; as long as it’s not trying to murder anyone, then he doesn’t want to know.

He’s startled from his reverie by a pair of hands awkwardly doing up his seatbelt. He blinks in wonderment.

‘Robbie?’

Robbie huffs. ‘Don’t go getting all soft and thinking that this means something. I just don’t want to fall off this blasted contraption and accidentally take my only chance at rescue with me.’

Sportacus grins. ‘Of course, Robbie. I understand completely.’ He turns his plane in the direction of Robbie’s lair. ‘It certainly has nothing to do with me rubbing off on you.’

Robbie sputters behind him, and Sportacus takes advantage of the lack of imminent danger to haul Robbie into a slightly safer position.

They fly in companionable silence for a minute.

‘So, how did you know that _Gaybours_ was on this evening?’

Sportacus stutters for a moment, before deciding to just answer the question honestly. Isn’t that what he’s always telling the kids to do, after all?

Granted, honesty with the kids usually involves a piece of misappropriated candy or a minor misunderstanding, rather than giving the town villain ammunition to use against the town hero for the rest of his days.

He shivers a little.

‘Sometimes I watch it.’ He pauses. ‘Okay! I watch it religiously.’

His second victory of the evening: for the first time ever, he has rendered Robbie Rotten one hundred per cent, utterly speechless.

He laughs, the truth coming more easily, now. ‘I have a wall that doubles as a giant projector screen. I watch it while I do cardio.’ He’ll never admit it out loud, but he doesn’t absolutely _love_ cardio as much as he loves other forms of exercise. It’s important that he does it regularly, though.

He feels a pang as he’s reminded of his airship, but it’s okay. He’ll make things up with the ship, and in the meantime Robbie probably has some spectacular fire hazard of a home entertainment system that will make for a great viewing experience.

He may even be able to bring himself to sit down long enough to watch the finale with him.

‘You’ve got hidden depths, Sportadork. Not very deep, but they’re there.’

He’ll take that as high praise.

‘And don’t think I didn’t hear you swearing back there. I didn’t know you had it in you.’

He tenses just a little. He’s still a bit disappointed in himself for having given into the urge, although the circumstances _had_ been pretty dire. ‘And neither does anyone else. I’d prefer it if it stayed that way.’

He’s given Robbie an awful lot of blackmail material tonight -- enough to make his life difficult for a long time, if Robbie so chooses. But when Robbie speaks again, he sounds almost hesitant.

‘I could… try to reprogram your ship for you. If you like.’

He smiles, genuinely touched. ‘Thank you for the offer, Robbie, but I think bringing you anywhere near the ship will just set it off again. It’ll be fine once it’s had some space to itself.’ A twinge of guilt runs through him. ‘I probably should have actually asked it for permission before I brought you up and started doing… what we were doing. And maybe it heard us discussing our plot to deceive it and run back to your place, which wasn’t a very nice thing to do to it.’

He’ll have to make it up to the airship later. Not that it’s entirely his fault, either. Sometimes, the best thing for everyone to do is admit their portion of the fault and forgive one another. He’s sure they’ll be able to work it out.

He loops the plane to bring it back behind the billboard, lost in thought.

Robbie curses suddenly. ‘It’s later than I thought -- we’ve missed half the episode already. We’ll have to wait until it’s finished before we can watch the recording.’

Sportacus shrugs. ‘That’s okay! I can think of a better way to pass the time.’ He’s really no good at all at projecting a leer into his voice, but hopefully Robbie will appreciate the effort. Practice makes perfect, after all.

‘Hmm. I think I could get to like this version of you.’

‘You didn’t like me already?’ He’s definitely teasing now.

Robbie grumbles. ‘Park this thing behind the billboard and let me out.’

He lowers the battered plane creakily to the ground, and has never been so glad to stop moving in all his life. The lower he stays to the ground, the better. 

Underground sounds better still.

Robbie gestures him down into the pipes with an after-you wave of his arm, and this is the first time he can think of when he’s actually been a completely welcome guest in the other man’s home.

The pipes are fun, even, and he’s spat out the other end, landing square in Robbie’s ridiculous orange chair. He’s not normally one for comfort, but he does have to admit that it’s nice to sit in, especially given how exhausted he is now.

He gazes around in wonder, taking a few moments to fully absorb his surroundings. Normally he’d be uncomfortable surrounded by so many machines with such a penchant for catastrophic failure, but now the perceived threat from them almost feels quaint. Even the robot dog snoozing in the doghouse has an air of benignancy.

And he’ll definitely have to have a closer look at the disguises. Just for hero purposes, of course. He needs to always be prepared.

Robbie slides out of the tube, and catches him checking out his lair. He gestures theatrically, a sweep of his arms that takes in all of their surrounds.

‘Like what you see?’

Sportacus turns his head to look him square in the eyes. ‘Yes. I do.’

Robbie looks downright embarrassed for a moment, but his characteristic bluster comes to the fore once more. He stalks towards Sportacus, pulling a lever on the chair that reclines it abruptly, leaving Sportacus flat on his back.

‘Now.’ He crawls on the chair above Sportacus, staring down into his eyes. ‘Where were we?’

It’s the complete opposite of where they were when they were interrupted, but he’s not about to complain. Being the less active one sounds… nice, right about now.

He smiles, the emotion behind it sincere. ‘Wherever you want to be.’

Robbie looks inordinately pleased at this, and so is Sportacus. He stretches out happily, a yawn splitting his face -- and freezes mid-stretch, eyes widening in horror.

Robbie’s clock -- 8:07 -- 

_No -- not now -- please --_

Normally he might be able to fight it, but today’s events have left him completely wrecked, and his eyes are leaden already. Even as he wonders as to whether they could possibly achieve anything within the space of a minute, his breathing slows and his head lolls to the side, jerking back up again.

The last thing he’s aware of is Robbie’s face, half exasperated and half fond, as he pulls a soft purple blanket up over him.

**Author's Note:**

> After writing this, I thought, 'I bet there's already something on the internet called *Gaybours*'... and, lo and behold, there was. Oh, well.


End file.
